Phantom
by Craft Rose
Summary: It is time for the Graduation Ball. Everyone is dressed to the nines. Hermione arrives dateless and just when the evening seems to be a disaster, she is whisked to the dance floor by a masked man. From there the story unfolds. (Hot sex ;)


**A/N: This takes place in what should have been their Seventh Year. Instead of searching for the Horcruxes, they return to Hogwarts and graduate. This is their graduation ball/prom. The events of Book 6 still happened. **

It was Muggle music. It was her own selection, being that she joined the graduation committee to boost up her extracurricular. The students seemed to be enjoying the song, which had transitioned from the soft rhythmic sensation of '_Truly, Madly, Deeply' _by Savage Garden to '_Love Like This_' by Faith Evans. Hermione had no memory of adding that song to the list, but she enjoyed it nonetheless.

Her cheeks rouged as she spotted Harry and Ginny grinding together somewhere to the left. She had never seen Harry do something so outwardly provocative in her life. Ginny, on the other hand, had no problem working her enticing movements into the dance. It looked as though they had transported to some private reality, where only they existed. The Head Girl forced herself to look away, catching sight of Ron and Lavender. They were also dancing in that same morally abandoned manner.

It was strange seeing her two best friends act so unlike themselves, but she took it as a compliment. She had spent months planning the graduation ball to perfection. Everything from the table clothes to the little bits of glitter that floated down from the illusionary night sky had been the product of her own blood, sweat and tears. The theme was Midsummer Night's Dream and boy did it feel like one.

It seemed a shame that she couldn't enjoy the festivities with the rest of the students, but Hermione had accepted that fate weeks ago, when she realized she had been left dateless and without something to wear. By Ginny's forceful nature, the bookish brunette had in fact found a dress for the occasion. It was a strapless, jewel tone green number with a sweetheart neckline and loose layers of silk that brushed the hardwood floor whenever she took a step. She wore her hair in loose curls, held together in the back with one of her mother's emerald-studded hairpieces.

Her makeup was practically nonexistent, but Hermione preferred to look that way. She hated the feeling of foundation or fake eyelashes. Instead she had opted for some feathery translucent power and a light lip stain. It was called 'rapturous rouge' but she doubted anything even slightly rapturous would overtake her within the forty minutes that remained.

Her thoughts slowly drifted to a different reality when the song made another transition. The students reformatted their movements to suit the new tempo. It was '_Slow Motion' _by Juvenile, a staple track for any adolescent soirée. It was slow, sexy and seemed to cast a lustful spell over everyone.

Hermione closed her eyes and imagined herself amidst her classmates, dancing carelessly into the night. She gave her hips a subtle sway, unable to resist, and felt her chest concave as an arm wrapped around her waist. She was whisked to the centre, for everyone to see, and spun around three times before the culprit behind such a scandalous act was revealed. He held her less than two inches away, smelling of leather and spice, and wearing the most exquisite mask she had ever seen. It had to be noted that they weren't attending a masquerade, which made his choice of accessory questionable, but the Great Hall had been charmed only to admit Seventh Years and the assigned chaperones. He can't have been a criminal, but something about him suggested danger.

She felt a hitch in the back of her throat, unable to catch a proper breath. It was only when the reincarnation of Erik from Phantom of the Opera ran his black gloved hand over the inner curve of her bareback that Hermione realized what was happening. They were dancing together, in such close proximity that she was sure he could see the each and every freckle that decorated her face. His face, on the other hand, remained covered with a mask similar to that of Gaston Leroux's infamous character.

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes and releasing a startled gasp as he spun her once more. This time her back was facing him. He then molded their bodies together as if they had been made to dance that way, and matched their movements to the song.

From the short amount of time Hermione had laid eyes on him, she had noticed two things. He had dark, dark brown hair. He was very tall in stature and lean in build. The only person she had ever known to fit that description was dancing with Ginny not six or seven feet away, which meant she had either forgotten one of her classmates or the young man grazing her hips with his blisteringly hot hands was a stranger.

The former made every inch of her body tingle with an unexpected sense of intrigue. She knew the proper course of action. It was a matter of walking away, rejecting this display of blatant sexuality and removing herself from the situation, but her feet dared not take a step. Instead, against her own judgment, Hermione closed her eyes and felt the movements, knowing this dance was a dance of raw, uninhibited desire.

"You move beautifully," he told her.

Hermione felt her heart leap inside her ribcage, wondering what sort of magic was at play that night. She was not the type of girl to fold easily. She had ignored the efforts of more than a few gentlemen during her time at Hogwarts, but this particular young man offered no room for objection.

His words repeated over and over again, ingrained into the depths of her memory as they moved together. Something about his voice rung familiar, but she couldn't think straight. The only thing on her mind was the way his muscles felt against her back and the curve of her arse. She could feel his body tighten and then release.

"Who are you?" she asked, hearing the trepidation in her own voice.

Her lips quivered open as he blew air along the curve of her neck and shoulder. "An admirer," he answered. "I can't say more than that."

"Why not?" she furthered.

His muscles tightened again. "Because tonight isn't about me." He turned her to face him. "It's about you."

In that moment she melted into their sway, unbeknownst as to what had overcome her in such a short period of time. In fact, her thoughts were in such disarray that she had barely noticed the change in song. It went from smooth R&B to a track straight from her childhood. '_Ain't No Sunshine_' by Bill Withers. She had seen her parents slow-dance to that song many times – during weddings, parties and other social gatherings, but the most memorable time had been just after they had rowed last summer. She had crept down the stairs of their family home and saw them, hand in hand, dancing in the lounge as though they were the only ones in existence.

It was the most romantic display she had ever seen.

"What's on your mind, beautiful?"

Hermione's eyes flickered up, in his direction. "_Don't call me that_," she whispered, realizing they had transitioned into closed position – but closer than was appropriate. Her heart picked up pace.

"Would you prefer I call you gorgeous, magnificent, sexy, stunning –" He paused, twirling her into a dip. Their faces were now less than one centimeter apart. She could see his eyes through the slits of his mask. They were wintery grey, very familiar. "Or shall we settle with…Hermione?"

His haunting gaze combined with the way he spoke her name left the young woman speechless. She inhaled deeply. Her chest pressed against his, and for a moment they hovered in a sweet, sensual silence. Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in his masculine scent as he gently pulled her back into closed position.

The air between them had changed. It went from adolescent curiosity to something much more tangible. His identity was on the cusp of her memory. She recognized so many things about him. His smile. His eyes. His voice. His stance. His elegance. His finely tailored robes.

"Tell me your name," she requested once more. "Please."

"I can and will do anything for you," he began, troubled. "But my identity must remain hidden behind this mask."

Hermione bit back her frustration. "What if my hands were to pull that mask from your face?"

His hand traveled lower, to the small of her back and he pulled her closer. "I might be forced to kiss you," he voiced, almost as a challenge. "Merlin knows I have dreamt of those lips for longer than is appropriate." The tension left his tone. "Their touch. Their shape. Their taste."

That tingle was back, but only between her thighs. Hermione could feel her core begin to pulse. His words had so much control over her. It was terrifying, but in a way that she wanted to further explore. "Do I know you?"

"Yes," he responded, after a brief pause.

"Are we friends?"

A small, devastatingly familiar smirk found his lips. It faded away as quickly as it had come. "It doesn't matter."

Hermione analyzed his answer. "I'll take that as a _no_." Bearing that in mind, her eyes wandered across the Great Hall. She decided her only hope of discovering his identity was by process of elimination. There weren't many Seventh Years. Just by one glance, she spotted Harry, Ron, Wayne, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ernie, Justin, Zacharias, Oliver, Stephen, Kevin, Terry, Michael, Anthony, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Blaise. She had, of course, eliminated the females and staff, which left just one possibility for the masked man.

Her insides went wild with anxiety. She held her breath, afraid to look upon those wintery grey eyes, knowing perfectly that they belonged to the last person she expected.

"Are you afraid?" he asked softly, reading her thoughts.

She knew that if there were a time to leave, it would be right then. "I don't know. I – I –"

His hands moved up and cupped both her cheeks. He caressed them with more care than Hermione would have liked to admit. "I feared this moment," he explained. "I know I've lost you, but I want you to know one thing."

Her heartbeat grew rapid. "What is it?"

"I will never let them hurt you," he promised. "Take it as my payment for all the times I have made those gentle eyes weep and those sumptuous lips quiver."

Hermione felt stupid for never having seen it sooner. The mask must have had a disguising spell placed on it, which changed the hair colour of the wearer to further conceal their true self. She blinked several times, watching the pieces fall into place until an almost nakedness crept up on her as the young man released her from his hold. She felt bare. She felt cold.

"Wait!" she shouted over the music, lifting the skirts of her dress as she raced to his place by the door. "Please wait."

He turned, the long black cloak over his shoulders spreading like a pair of wings. "Is something the matter?"

She paused, breaking free of the restraints that had held her for so goddamned long. "Let me see you."

"I beg your pardon? I am right here for –"

"No," Hermione interjected, stepping closer and tracing her fingers over the curvature of his mask. "Let me see you."

As if on cue, the music changed again. It was up-tempo and the sound of cheers and feet stomping the dance floor filled the Great Hall. The atmosphere in the ball had gone from smooth and slow to raucous and wild. It was a song from the Weird Sisters' latest album, but Hermione hadn't the patience to remember which.

The pair of them remained in their private moment of discovery. He placed his hand over hers and pressed it harder against the mask, almost as an invitation. Hermione allowed herself to be guided out of the Great Hall and into the entrance of the school. The place was empty. The corridors were completely silent. The only sounds came from their own beating hearts.

It had to have been the risk of being seen coupled with the mystery of the moment, but Hermione had never felt so compelled to join her body with that of someone else. She carefully lifted the silver plated mask from her admirer's face and watched as his dark brown hair faded to pale blonde, in perfect harmony with the eyes that encapsulated her.

"Draco," she breathed, echoing his name from the deepest alcove of her mind.

"I am a wanted man," Draco suddenly said, speaking of his wrongdoings during their Sixth Year. He, along with Severus Snape, had vanished from the Hogwarts corridors in conjunction with a band of Death Eaters, wreaking havoc along the way. He somehow managed to sneak back into the school for the ball that night. "I know the war is only days away, but I had to see you one last time before – before –"

Hermione silenced him with one finger over his lips, allowing her digit to linger there as she spoke. "Let's go somewhere more private."

They traveled outside, onto the grounds, and into the Forbidden Forest. It was the only place they were certain not to be seen. The brunette followed her old rival further into the trees and wondered if it was trap, but her worries had been cut short the moment he stopped in a clearing, wherein a narrow stream of moonlight illuminated the area. She glanced up and noticed the sky was dotted with stars. It was the perfect backdrop.

Draco turned in her direction, opening his mouth to speak but stumbling over his thoughts. "I – I don't know what to say. It seems I have lost my confidence along with my mask."

She couldn't help but smile. It was so strange seeing him this way, regarding her with something other than a venomous glare. "You don't have to say anything," Hermione offered. "But I am here if you would like to talk."

"You pity me," he deduced.

"No, I understand you," she corrected. "Harry is famous. He gets everyone's vote because he was prophesized to destroy Voldemort." Hermione took a deep, contemplative breath, ending with a gaze straight into the eyes of her dance partner. "But something tells me he is not the only one whose fate had been decided at birth."

The fair-haired wizard took her statement with a note of astonishment. It could have had something to do with her perfect understanding of his situation, or the boldness in which she spoke. But the look on his face told her it was both. Draco closed the gap between them, snaking an arm around her waist and using the other to comb the hair from her face. His fingers traced her ear and jaw line, until resting smoothly under her chin.

"I am going to kiss you," he told her, tilting her mouth towards his. "It will be long, sensuous, intricate and raw, and no matter what transpires after this moment, neither of us will forget it."

The blood rushed to Hermione's cheeks, ears and neck. She felt white hot in his grip, and closed her eyes as he came closer and closer and _closer_.

Their lips quivered in untried territory, shy with embarrassment and frozen in shock over what had just happened, but the kiss soon transitioned into something much more heartfelt. The nerves left both their bodies and they wrapped their arms around one another, touching and familiarizing themselves. Hermione could feel his hands rest on the small of her back and positioned her own behind his neck.

He tasted of dark chocolate and wine. His movements left her breathless and yearning for more. He kissed her softly, but with determination. He was determined to burn this moment into her psyche and make her think of him during any intimacy that succeeded the one before them. She felt his lips slowly part and a supple yet firm tongue trace over the line between her own lips. Hermione carefully gave him entry, feeling the muscles in his shirt constrict against her in that same impossibly sexy manner.

It took a few seconds, but she soon brushed her tongue against his and relished the moment in which a husky moan escaped his lips and through her body. His hold on her tightened and he lifted her from the ground, gently pressing her back against a nearby tree.

Their lips bruised and bashed together in the rhythm of desire, deepening their kiss into something neither of them had ever experienced. It was utterly intoxicating and felt oh-so scandalous.

Hermione unknowingly spread her legs further apart, biding him entrance into the most private of places. He leaned his pelvic area into her, revealing just how much he wanted her and in how many ways, until both of them realized what was happening.

Draco broke away, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. His hair was a mess too, for once in his life. He was breathing heavy. He remained close, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tell me to stop," he told her, almost begging.

"I can't," she whispered.

He looked between both eyes. "Why?"

The brunette glanced down, still able to feel his desire pressed against the space between her legs. The skirt of her dress had ridden up above her knees and to her upper thighs. She was fabulously exposed. "Because I need this as much as you do."

He swallowed down – hard. "I won't be able to stop, once we start," Draco warned her. "Bear that in mind."

"Neither will I," Hermione challenged him, grabbing handfuls of his sleeves and using them as leverage to roll against him.

Draco didn't need anymore convincing. He lifted her from the tree and set her down on the damp Earth. He hovered over her, carrying his weight with his arms and knees on either side. His wintery gaze cascaded down the length of her body and with one hand he brought her in for another breathless kiss.

Her torso, as though speaking a language of its own, arched in anticipation as the Slytherin's hand swerved behind her back, locating the low zip on her dress. Hermione knew his words were true. There was no stopping. They were going to do this. It was happening.

She ran her tongue between her lips as they paused for air, feeling the intensity in his gaze rise in synchronization with the speed in which he pulled the zip all the way down. The fabric around her chest loosened, allowing for stronger, fuller breaths. Hermione took advantage of the opportunity and felt her chest inflate with high hopes.

Draco unclasped his cloak and robes and tossed them aside. He was wearing nothing but his dress shirt and trousers. Both were black, camouflaging him in the night had it not been for his pale skin and blond hair. He took hold of Hermione's hands and ran them over his front. She bit her lip, craving the rippling muscles that waited underneath, and quickly began to unbutton his shirt.

She started from the bottom and felt her inner prowess come out to play at the sight of his abs. She had no idea he was that fit. There was really no way of knowing under all those layers of clothing. Hermione tossed his shirt into the pile and pulled him back down. She moaned as he began to suck the skin of her neck and collarbone. It was ridiculously hot.

He gave her one look, as though to ask permission, before carefully pulling her dress down. Draco flared his nostrils, taking in as much air as he could, as two rosy pink nubs bordered with the same softness and colour, came into view. He licked his lips, bowing his head between her fleshy mounds, and kissed every inch.

Hermione moaned his name, feeling the shock of what was happening disappear. She didn't care anymore. She wanted this. She needed this. She tilted her head back and felt her lacey knickers dampen as Draco ran his tongue over her nipples. He made them wet and then blew air, casting a euphoric spell over his lady.

"Is it all right if I call you beautiful, now?" he asked, jokingly.

She immediately smiled, drawn back into the moment as he massaged her inner thigh. Hermione knew for a fact she was impossibly ready. The only question remained with him.

Draco scooted further down her body and sat upright as he reached into her dress and hooked his fingers around the band of her knickers. He gently pulled them off. His chest muscles tightened as he felt the dampness on them.

Hermione glanced away, embarrassed at her arousal until his lips were once again on hers, wiping away the nervousness. She kissed back, fully immersed in the act, until a shaky, staggering, guttural moan left her throat as his fingers glided over her entrance and to the swollen nub.

"Is this where it feels good?" he asked.

Her chest rose and fell with impeccable speed. She nodded. "_Y – Yes_."

Draco dragged his kiss back to her neck, massaging her clitoris as he went. He enticed several airy moans from Hermione until she decided enough was enough. She sat up and attacked the buckle on his trousers. The young man did nothing but watch, feeling his own arousal press painfully against the restriction. He had been hard since their first song together back in the Great Hall. The feel of her smooth arse against his length was enough to drive any man wild with desire.

He groaned in both pleasure and relief as she yanked his trousers down, revealing a light trail of golden pubic hair and the shaft of his cock. Judging by the look on her face, she had never seen one before, but that only made it better. It was his first time, too.

Hermione gave his trousers another yank and gasped a little as all eight inches of his hard cock bobbed out. She could almost see the blood rushing through his veins and towards the purplish head. The brunette bit her bottom lip, building up some good ol' Gryffindor courage before wrapping a hand around the shaft. It was soft and hard at the same time, a totally new phenomenon, and something she knew she would remember.

The weight on Draco's eyelids grew heavy as he expelled puffs of air in pure, unadulterated pleasure. He had never been touched like this by anyone but himself. It felt even better than he had imagined. He craved the touch of a woman, but not just any – _her_. She made him feel like ten times the man he was, and that had always been true. She was never afraid to call him out on his faults. Her jabs at him had never been quick or ill thought. No, Hermione Granger was better than that. She knew exactly what to say and when to say it.

And in that moment she knew exactly what to do. It was beginning to feel too good. He gripped her hand, pausing her strokes. "S – Stop or I'll…"

"Isn't that the point?" she asked, totally innocent.

Draco couldn't help but smile. "Not like this," he said. "I mean…if you'll allow it…I'd like to…make you feel good…at the same time."

She knew what he was talking about and said nothing in response. Instead Hermione lay back down and waited for him as he followed her lead. They kissed again, but it was different than the other times. This kiss was something of comfort and support for what was next. It was a kiss built with mutual respect and adoration.

He reached between their bodies and rubbed the head of his cock against her opening. "I – I think it's going to hurt you," Draco warned her. "Forget what I said before. Tell me if it's too much and I'll stop."

"Okay," Hermione agreed, fearful of the pain but curious about the pleasure.

She closed her eyes, feeling his lips graze hers in a soothing manner as he slowly inserted himself inside her and gave a light push. It did hurt. In fact, it hurt a lot. But she kept quiet. The only thing she focused on was the reward. His cock went all the way in after a dozen or so pushes, spanning at least ten minutes. He was being incredibly gentle with her, and it made her heart melt with longing, but every thought she had, had vanished into the night as a rapturous wave stormed through her body.

Hermione moaned against his mouth, holding onto his shoulders as he thrust into her, growing with both pace and pressure. Wave after wave after wave. She spread her legs wider and dug her nails into his flesh, feeling hot blood on the tips of her fingers.

"Sorry…" she breathed.

Draco tugged her bottom lip with his teeth and rubbed his tongue over hers. "I didn't feel a thing," he lied. "Do it again."

She did and in response he delivered a slow, grinding thrust that made her entire body shake with arousal. They were moving fast now, so fast that they were beginning to make that slapping sound. Hermione's throat was sore from moaning so much. She met his thrusts with her own movements and gasped as he lifted her into upright position.

"You feel so good," he whispered, leaving kisses along her shoulder. "I've wanted this forever."

"Me, too," she admitted, moving her hips in circles. "Is – Is that good?"

Draco nodded, breathing heavily. "You're doing brilliant."

Hermione smiled, coming down harder, bouncing on his cock with as much force as she could muster, and feeling herself teeter over the edge of complete and utter abandonment.

The young man before her seemed to be in the same state. He closed his eyes, placing a hand on her arse and helping her as she continued. They moved together, in perfect rhythm, just like before on the dance floor, except this time it was to the song of their choosing.

Their movements grew feral and untamed. A thin layer of sweat coated both their bodies, and Draco quickly pulled her in for another kiss before he felt the walls of her core clamp down on his cock in not one, not two, not three, but seven bursts of ecstasy. She was dripping all over him – hot and wet.

That was all it took. Just the vision of her lips tremble and eyelashes flutter shut, and the sound of her piercing moan, to launch him far over the edge. He came _hard_. His cock pulsed inside her in the aftermath of their shared orgasm. They stayed like this, gazing at one another for any look of doubt, until coming to the realization that this was meant to happen, in this exact place, in this exact time.

They tumbled to the ground, together, and Draco wrapped an arm around her, using the other to rest his head. He watched her eyes drift away from his and to the one spot on his left forearm. Her expression changed just then, from exhausted to alert.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, sensing her apprehension.

Hermione looked to him. "No," she answered confidently. "I just – I wish things were different."

Draco nodded. "Me, too. I'm sorry it had to happen this way."

"It's not your fault," she told him. "You didn't choose this fate for yourself."

He knew she was at least partially right, but the guilt that bound his heart was impenetrable. "What happens now?"

The brunette sighed, in thought. "I suppose we leave this place…and, when the time comes, fight for our loved ones." It was a resounding statement, echoing the fact that they were trapped on opposite sides. It was a tragedy neither of them had expected.

Draco came in closer, pressing his lips on her forehead, unbeknownst to the single tear that slid down her cheek. "I'll fight for you," he vowed. "Till the very end."

Hermione closed her eyes and allowed his words to leave an imprint on her heart. She knew it was dangerous, but the moment was too real and too intense for her to back away. She was falling for him. She was falling for a Death Eater.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Means a lot. As you can tell, I'm a little obsessed with Erik from Phantom of the Opera, as I've referenced him in a previous fic, as well as this one lol. If you would be so kind as to leave a review, I would reeeeally appreciate it. Cheers xo.**


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